I know what it feels like. The story is intricate, a finely-spun spider’s web. The characters are woven into the story; the narrative forms a cocoon around them, making the characters its own. The plot develops subtly, never giving away more than is required; its veil of mystery stays in place, fluttering every now and then. The emotions portrayed are intense — it has the ability to leave the reader breathless, lost for words. This opus will always stand out, always be different from the others on the shelf.
He sat at the desk in the study, scrutinizing the instrument in his hands. As a child, he used to sneak in here to play with his father’s instruments when he was away. Of all the instruments, this weathered compass had always fascinated him the most.
If someone were to look at my life through a window, I wonder what they would see. If they’ve been following me on Instagram, they’d probably see a surfer chick, a big smile on her tanned face, eyes twinkling, holding a surfboard taller than her. In the background, white sand and the playful blue sea of Costa da Caparica.
Every artist has a muse, irrespective of gender or, indeed, the situation. So many artists and their muses have been eternalised in the books of history – Francis Bacon and George Dyer, Edouard Manet and Victorine Meurent, Pablo Picasso and Dora Maar (one among his six muses), and Salvador Dali and Gala Diakonova to name a few. Continue reading →